


No Speed Limits on the Green

by tuesday



Series: Take It Slow [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Companion Piece, Didn't Know They Were Dating, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Undercover as a Couple, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: Peter thought it was kind of tacky to engage in celebrity gossip and speculation when that celebrity was someone you knew, worked with, and were even sort of maybe … friends with?  (Peter would like to think they had graduated from their mentor-mentee relationship to friends, at least.)  But if pressed, he would have said that Tony was handling the divorce well, that this was something a long time coming and which Tony had come to grips with long before Peter or the public at large knew it was happening at all.And Peter would have been wrong, because Tony was very obviously in crisis.—In which Peter thinks he is terrible moral support, but is doing his best not to let his massive ongoing crush get in the way, then has to pretend to be dating said massive ongoing crush.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: Take It Slow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676962
Comments: 19
Kudos: 299
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019





	No Speed Limits on the Green

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreeGratis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeGratis/gifts).



> This is the second of my Marvel Trumps Hate fic! As requested, it's a companion piece to Take It Slow from Peter's POV. This fic is meant to be read after Take It Slow, though they take place concurrently.
> 
> Thank you so much to natcat for making this fic better and to duckmoles for the moral support. You are both the best. ♥
> 
> Thank you again to FreeGratis for your support for charity! ♥

Tony Stark was freshly divorced and seemed determined to power through it by sheer will. Despite the tabloid reports and internet rumors, it was difficult to tell how broken up he was about it in person at first. 

He seemed normal to Peter. He didn't seem to be struggling. He didn't go on a womanizing spree reminiscent of his pre-Iron Man playboy days, though there was now endless speculation about every woman he so much as glanced at. His eyes weren't red when Peter saw him, and he didn't look like he'd been crying. He just looked like himself, a little older than when Peter had met him, with a bit of gray at the temples, the lines at his eyes a little deeper, but just as handsome and charming and cheerful as ever.

Peter thought it was kind of tacky to engage in celebrity gossip and speculation when that celebrity was someone you knew, worked with, and were even sort of maybe … friends with? (Peter would like to think they had graduated from their mentor-mentee relationship to friends, at least.) But if pressed, he would have said that Tony was handling the divorce well, that this was something a long time coming and which Tony had come to grips with long before Peter or the public at large knew it was happening at all.

And Peter would have been wrong, because Tony was very obviously in crisis. 

Tony showed up at the lab while Peter was messing with a new web formula to inform Peter that he wanted to go golfing and he wanted to take Peter with him. Did Tony even like golfing? It wasn't for a mission—Peter checked—just something to fill one of his suddenly empty weekends. Peter was going to take it, because Peter would take whatever he could get, years long crush going strong (and somehow still growing), but seriously: golfing. 

"Do I get to drive a golf cart?" Peter asked instead of asking if Tony was okay. No one wanted to be asked that; at least, Tony Stark never wanted to be asked that, especially not coming from Peter.

"Honey, I will buy you a golf cart," Tony said.

Oh, man, yeah. Tony was definitely not okay. "'Honey'?" Peter said as gently and circumspectly as he could manage, considering he was also kind of mentally framing this so he could take it out and examine it carefully over and over again in the future, the moment he got an unambiguously romantic pet name. Sure, it was the result of force of habit left over from years of marriage and intended for someone else, but again: Peter would take whatever he could get.

Tony winced. He said, "Slip of the tongue." They made plans to go golfing. Peter's experiment also boiled over and ate through part of the work bench, but that was less important.

A part of Peter that was still fourteen years old, no matter the years in between, squealed, _I'm going golfing with Mr. Stark!_

Because Peter was twenty now, he kept his effervescent joy mostly internal. Grinning to himself, Peter cleaned up the mess from his experiment and started over.

—

Golf was a disaster. First, they'd miscommunicated the time, Tony showing up at Peter's dorm a good half hour before his alarm was set to go off. Tony brought Peter McDonald's he picked up while Peter frantically got ready, and Peter ate most of the food, then fell fast asleep like the world's worst moral support. When they got to the golf course, it was eerily deserted—which turned out to be a good thing, because Peter did a terrible job at judging how much force to apply to a golf ball. The first one exploded into a cloud of dust and tiny shards of wrecked golfball.

"Oops?" Peter said.

Tony just laughed at him, so at least Peter was providing a decent distraction. "Don't worry about it. I rented out the whole place. No one will ever know how much trouble you have getting it in the hole." Tony winked, which didn't help at all. He also had no room to talk, because he was bad at golf, too, and he'd actually held a driver before today. "Watch and learn, young padawan. Golf is a simple matter of calculating force and angles."

His first ball went right into the water hazard.

"I'm learning a lot," Peter said. He was starting to get the feeling that Tony had less experience golfing than he'd boasted.

"I may be a little rusty," Tony admitted.

They stared at the water. "Do you actually have to climb in and play it from there?" Peter asked, not because he didn't know, but because a part of him was hoping that _Tony_ didn't and would decide the answer was yes. If Peter was going to suffer through this, then he should get the reward of Tony soaking wet, with his designer golf shirt clinging to his skin. Look, it was early, and Peter was sacrificing his limited spare time for this, mostly by stealing from the time he should be sleeping and/or studying. Yes, being with Tony was a reward in and of itself, but golf was boring, and Peter deserved this.

"That's sand traps," Tony said.

—

Peter didn't deserve this. 

Tony kept making all sorts of jokes implying things he didn't mean. He was more handsy than usual, like he was trying to make up for the recent lack of skinship by taking every platonic gesture and pushing it right to the line and a little bit over. He touched Peter all over: at the back of the neck, at the shoulder, at the elbow, even giving him an impromptu consolatory back rub after he'd lost his ninth ball into the woods. He went so far as holding Peter's hand at one point, the inner part of his thumb swiping gently over the outer part of Peter's. It was the worst sort of tease, and Peter was afraid to point it out and inadvertently remind Tony that he and Ms. Potts were probably never going to hold hands again. (And yes, fine, he also really didn't want it to stop.)

Worst of all, he was a back seat driver. 

"We can go faster," Tony said. 

Peter had to consciously keep his hands loose on the wheel when what he wanted was to dig in with a white-knuckled grip and leave imprints. Tony's hand was on his thigh.

"No speed limits on the green."

"This is fast enough," Peter said.

Tony's hand squeezed, and Peter tried and failed not to think about how it was dangerously close to his dick.

"You're right. We can take it slow." Tony's grin was warm. "But if you change your mind—"

"We're not in a hurry, are we?" Peter asked, wondering if the course was only reserved for part of the day. They did get a late start thanks to Peter.

"Nah." Tony's smile went oddly soft. "I'm enjoying the journey."

His hand stayed on Peter's thigh all the way to the next course.

—

Somehow, it wasn't a one time thing.

Peter was in the middle of studying (actually studying, not doing Spider-Man stuff and justifying it as extracurricular chemistry or engineering work) when his phone went off with the ringtone Peter had reserved for Tony in what had at the time felt like a burst of too much optimism. Maybe it had taken years, but it had finally paid off. Fortunately Peter had a single, so no one else was there to see his embarrassing lunge for his phone, knocking his books off his desk and pulling his headphones out of the laptop from the port.

"Hello?" Peter said breathlessly.

"What are you doing next weekend?" was what Tony opened with, because he didn't seem to believe in pleasantries.

"Is the answer Avengers business?" Peter asked, pulling off the headphones from where they'd gotten stuck around his neck.

"Is it? Huh. What about Thursday?"

"No, I was asking you," Peter clarified. "Did you guys need me for something?"

"Need isn't the word," Tony said, "but want, yes, though it's me asking, not the Avengers. I was thinking we could get dinner. I'll treat you to something nicer than drive through or clubhouse burgers. What do you say?"

"I can make the time," Peter said, mentally already crossing out every tentative plan for the weekend and shuffling the paper he had due the following Monday over into the hours he should be sleeping this week. It was fine. College students were meant to be sleep-deprived. "When were you thinking?"

"How's Friday at six sound? And to be clear, six is the reservations. I'd pick you up around five."

"It sounds good to me," Peter said instead of his first thought, which was that it sounded like a date.

"Great. Wear something formal or semi-formal, but not a tux."

"I don't own a tux."

"Would you like to?" Tony asked. Then, "Do you need me to buy you a suit? I can buy you a suit."

Peter rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "I own a suit, Mr. Stark, and not just the one you gave me."

Tony made a wounded sound, like it was his dream to play paper dolls with a real person and Peter had just killed it. Actually, that would explain a lot about his tendency to design extra Spider-suits Peter didn't actually need.

"I'll see you at five," Peter said.

He stared down at the mess of papers and books on his dorm floor. Definitely worth it.

—

Tony showed up at five on the dot. When Peter came down, Tony was lounging against the side of the car. He was wearing a suit, but not a tie. He'd left the top button undone, and Peter's gaze was drawn to that little bit of exposed skin again and again. He pulled Peter into a hug, and Peter took advantage of the opportunity to bury his face in Tony's shoulder for a full thirty seconds before he made himself pull back a little. Tony smelled nice, like body wash and hair gel. He squeezed once, then released Peter.

"Let's go. Dinner reservations, and I'm parked in a tow zone." Tony's breath smelled like toothpaste. Did he stay up for three days, then sleep in until the afternoon again? Is that why it seemed like he had just gotten ready for the day? This was really not helping Peter's concern.

But it also probably wouldn't help to ask how Tony was sleeping, so Peter just teased, "If you parked in visitors parking—"

"Then you'd have to walk, and what sort of date would I be to make you trek that distance?"

"Ha ha," Peter said dryly, doing his best not to think about how very much this seemed like it could be a date if it were anyone but Tony Stark, who had no concept of romantic or platonic norms. "You're very funny."

From Tony's pleased smile, he certainly thought so.

—

Dinner was weird.

The thing was, Peter had eaten dinner with Tony any number of times. Admittedly, it wasn't usually just the two of them at a nice restaurant. They'd had takeout at the lab any number of times, been to the same Avengers events that served the sort of hors d'oeuvres that probably counted as a full meal elsewhere, and just last weekend eaten Taco Bell in Tony's car while Tony wondered aloud if their tacos actually counted as tacos or even food.

None of those times had ever felt like a date. This … kind of felt like a date. It was just—the restaurant was really nice! The tables had actual table cloths and linen napkins folded into swans. Tony told Peter to order whatever he wanted, then, when Peter explained that he had no idea what anything on the menu was except the escargot and filet mignon, ordered a spread of things for both of them.

"We can doggy bag anything we don't finish," Tony said, like it was perfectly normal to order half the menu for just two people.

At one point, Tony reached across the table and held Peter's hand.

It wasn't a date—obviously, it wasn't a date—but apparently Tony had forgotten how normal people interacted at nice restaurants when they hadn't been married for years. It was doing things to Peter's heart, terrible, unfortunate things. He thought it would burst when Tony stabbed his fork through a thinly cut slice of meat and held it up to Peter's lips, insisting, "Try this. You'll love it."

"It's good," Peter said after chewing and swallowing, though he honestly couldn't have said what it tasted like when Tony was staring at him with that warm expression, when Tony's foot was pressed against his under the table, when Tony was already spearing a bite of something else to continue _hand-feeding Peter_.

Peter had survived supervillains, turning into dust (okay, maybe he didn't technically survive that one, but he came back), and attending four years of high school with Flash, but he wasn't sure he could survive this.

"This is nice, isn't it?" Tony said. "We should do this more often."

"Yeah," Peter said, trying not to sound too eager for something that probably wouldn't happen. Whatever was causing Tony to settle for more time with Peter instead of his other friends would be over, Tony would go back to channeling any unhappiness into building new inventions, or he and Pepper would suddenly try to make it work one last time. Whatever was going on here, it wasn't the new normal. It couldn't last. Peter wasn't Tony's new best friend, and he shouldn't pretend otherwise. "Definitely."

—

But when Tony dropped Peter off, he wanted to make plans for the next weekend, too.

"You don't have anything else you'd rather do?" Peter asked, because seriously, no matter how busy Rhodey was, surely there was someone who would be better moral support than the college student who had probably only recently graduated from pet project to a person in his own right. (In all fairness, Peter himself still hadn't been able to bring himself to call Tony by first name to his face, no matter how many invitations he'd been given to do so during their weekly lab time.) What were Tony's other friends even doing? Did Ms. Potts get them all in the divorce?

"We can go to a museum or something if you want," Tony said, like Peter's objection was the activity suggested. 

Peter wasn't objecting to more time spent with Tony! Peter would take every second Tony gave him, even if it resulted in more hand-feeding and other borderline inappropriate touching. (Especially if it resulted in more hand-feeding and other borderline inappropriate touching.) 

But. 

He had no idea what he was doing. All of Ned's break-ups had been oddly amicable. Peter and M.J.'s friendship had survived them dating, but they weren't the sort of friends who relied on each other in the case of heartbreak. Peter had never been a shoulder to cry on. He wasn't sure if Tony _wanted_ a shoulder to cry on.

Also, Peter was pretty sure any of Tony's other friends would not be in danger of spending any shoulder crying time thinking about how nice it was to have Tony in their arms or surreptitiously sniffing his hair or considering what it would be like to have that sort of prolonged contact without the accompanying tears and sadness. Peter was a bad choice all around, okay? At least he was self-aware enough to realize he was getting more out of this than he should be.

"No, I meant—" Peter shook his head, forcing a smile. He didn't know what he was doing and he was undeniably, objectively a terrible choice thanks to his feelings, but it wouldn't stop him from trying his best to help. And if all Tony wanted was someone to distract him, Peter could handle that. "It doesn't matter. I don't think I've had so many weekend plans in a row since M.J. stopped making them for me, but yeah. I'm happy to hang out at home with you."

"Can we make it a rule not to talk about our exes?" Tony asked with a wince. "At least, not yet?"

Right, apparently Peter couldn't handle that. Man, he was so bad at this. "Sure. I'm happy to do that, too."

The sad truth was, Peter _was_ happy—too happy. Tony was suffering, and Peter felt bad about that, but it didn't do much to dampen the happiness he felt at getting to spend time together. Tony could never, ever know.

—

"What are you doing this weekend?" Rhodey dropped by the lab to ask as Peter was once again fiddling with the web formula, though this version hopefully wouldn't cause acid burns. 

Peter had a weird sense of deja vu. "Just a movie night with Mr. Stark," Peter said, though "just" did not cover how Peter felt about it. "Why? Is it Avengers business?"

"Got it in one." Rhodey cued up the holographic display and said, "I've granted you access to the necessary files. You've said you wanted to do more: here's the opportunity. Undercover work."

"Really?" Peter was a mature adult now, which absolutely did not come through in his voice as he tried and failed to temper his excitement. Peter pulled open the brief first. It looked so exciting! Alien tech! A cult! The chance to go undercover on a cruise! There was only one problem. "I want to. I really, really do. But I don't want Mr. Stark to be alone this weekend."

Rhodey frowned. "Is he back to wallowing?" 

Okay, with that lack of sympathy, Peter could suddenly understand how he had become current first choice for moral support. "I wouldn't call it wallowing." More like avoiding. "Look, do you—do you think, if I do this, that you can make sure he's not alone this weekend? Not if he doesn't want to be."

"Sure," Rhodey said. "I can take care of that. Can you take care of this?"

"Yes," Peter said. "I've got this."

Peter didn't ever think there was a chance he would cancel plans with Tony Stark, but one thing they had in common was that the super hero thing came first. Peter knew Tony would understand. And Rhodey would probably be a better choice, lack of sympathy aside, than Peter, whose reaction to Tony needing extra moral support was a guilty sort of joy.

—

A few hours later, Tony crowded into Peter's space after informing him that Tony wouldn't be spending the weekend alone, because he would be spending it with Peter after all, undercover as a couple. Tony wanted to practice. He sat in Peter's lap. He put his arms around Peter's neck. He moved in like he was going for a kiss and brushed the tips of their noses together. He offered Peter a blow job. Was he maybe partially serious right now? It felt kind of like he was maybe being serious.

Apparently Tony had moved onto the period of post-divorce where he wanted to remind himself he was still desirable. That was the only explanation for why he was throwing himself so enthusiastically at Peter. That, or he was just that committed to the mission. Peter would also like to say he was that committed to the mission, but the mission was the last thing on his mind. 

Vying for first place: The repeated mental refrain of "Is he serious?" Beating down the urge to pull Tony more firmly down on his lap and engage in a little light grinding. Trying not to moan when Tony did the grinding for both of them. Also beating down the urge to straight up ask, "Are you being serious right now?"

"I think that's enough practicing, Mr. Stark. I was kind of in the middle of something. I should get back to it," Peter said instead of leaning in and pressing their mouths together. It took more strength than lifting a building. Tony's mouth was very close. The distance would be easily closed. It was hard to be a good person and good friend instead of taking Tony up on that offer of a blow job.

Tony wiggled in Peter's lap, laughter in his eyes despite the way Peter's dick was very obviously interested in proceedings—maybe because of it. "Are you sure?"

Peter was sure that if Tony kept moving like that, then Peter was going to come in his pants. About turning Tony down? Absolutely not. "Pretty sure, yeah."

When Tony left, Peter pressed his flushed face against the top of the workbench and decided he had vastly overestimated himself earlier. "I don't got this."

Because it was that sort of day, his experiment foamed up and melted through the finish of the work bench again.

—

When Ned had gotten clearance for Avengers business, it was as a sounding board and pressure valve. Something about stress levels and how Ned ended up smack dab in the middle of all of Peter's super hero shenanigans all throughout high school anyway. Probably it was meant for Peter to be able to talk to him about his near death experiences after they happened. Definitely it wasn't meant for panicking about having had a hard-on pressed right against Tony Stark's ass.

Peter panicked about it anyway.

"So what you're telling me is that you and your childhood celebrity crush are going on a couples cruise together and somehow this is a problem?" Ned said. "Dude, this is all your dreams come true! Embrace it. Enjoy your free vacation taking down bad guys."

"Mr. Stark is a real person with real feelings, and he's going through a tough time right now. I can't take advantage of him," Peter insisted.

"Is it taking advantage if he _wants_ to use you to pretend he's not a disaster single right now?" Ned asked. 

"Maybe I don't want to be used," Peter said. Ned looked at him. "Fine, yes, I want to be used, but I don't want him to regret it."

Ned flipped open his closet. "Okay, we can handle this. You're worried you're just an easy attractive target right now, right? Simple solution: we make you less attractive." Ned pulled out a hideous Hawaiian shirt that was a little big on him. He held it up to Peter's chest. "Step one, hide all those spider mutant muscles."

"I don't want to take your shirt," Peter said. Not least because it was just that ugly. "You do get that this would go on a mission with me? I could get blood on this. It could come back with bullet holes."

"Please take the shirt. My nana bought it for me. I'm not allowed to throw it away, but there's nothing wrong with it having an accident in the line of duty." Ned draped the shirt around Peter's shoulders. "This shirt has acted as a chastity belt for me far too many times. Now, it's your turn."

"Thank you for the support," Peter said, smiling despite himself.

"What are friends for?" Ned looked considering. "But as powerful as that shirt is, I don't think it'll be enough. You need a finishing touch."

—

They got Peter a fanny pack.

It wasn't enough.

—

The start of the cruise wasn't so bad except for how it was terrible. Why did people like the ocean? Being on a boat was terrible. Peter's inner ear was rebelling. His stomach heaved. He wanted to lie down and let the sea claim him. The only good thing was Tony taking Peter back to their rooms and letting Peter put his head into his lap—not in a sexy way—then stroking Peter's hair until he fell asleep.

He felt better when he woke up, but not 100%. Not even 80%. Maybe 40%, which was enough to be getting on with for the mission, but not enough to deal with Tony stripping down to his underwear and dithering over which suit to wear to dinner. Peter tried really, really hard not to look. He did. But Tony would shift his weight, and Peter's eyes would be drawn to his shoulders or to the cut of his waist or to the dark trail of hair disappearing into his underwear or to—it didn't matter. The point was, Peter did not feel capable of dealing with this.

Tony finally put on some clothes, and Peter's staring had been noticed, because he said, smug grin stretched across his face, "Like what you see?"

Maybe _this_ was why Tony didn't have anyone else to do movie night with. "It's a nice suit."

Somehow, Peter made it through the rest of the conversation, including Tony stepping close and stripping him of Ned's shirt. Peter tried really hard not to think about how the shirt was supposed to be a chastity belt, and here Tony was undoing one button at a time, that smug grin still on his face, a little smaller, but even more satisfied. Marshalling every bit of willpower available to him, Peter stepped away. He tidied the shirt away with the laundry.

"Ready when you are," Peter said.

"I promise that I'm very ready for you."

"Great," Peter said, though it wasn't great. He didn't want to go to dinner. He wanted to give up and stay in, maybe embarrass himself seeing if meaningless rebound sex actually was on the table. See if it wouldn't ruin their relationship after all. "Let's go."

—

They went to dinner, then went for cocktails at one of the mixers. Despite being undercover as a couple on a swingers cruise, neither was very good at looking for suspicious characters. The closest they got was the sleazy guy who showed up alone and thought the way into Peter's pants was by insulting the man Peter—the man Peter's _cover identity_ —loved.

Tony picked up Peter's hand and pressed his lips against the knuckles, his goatee brushing the back of Peter's hand. A small part of Peter started screaming and refused to stop.

"I'm glad you appreciate me despite my advanced age, sweetheart," Tony said. His eyes were laughing.

"Maybe there's something to be said for experience," Peter said, trying simultaneously to be convincing for their audience and also not to let on to Tony how very much he personally would like to get some of that experience for himself.

Peter made it through the rest of this conversation, too, but it was getting harder. Peter was getting up close and personal experience with the sort of charm that made Tony one of the world's most eligible bachelors, and it was simultaneously fantastic and awful. Peter suggested doing something else, because if he had to endure the full two hours of this event, he was either going to blow their cover or beg Tony to take him back to their room and let Peter blow _him_.

—

They went putt-putting. It wasn't much better.

Tony insisted on assisting Peter with his grip, then adjusted his form with his hands on his hips and his chin tucked on his shoulder. His words wisped past like so much noise, his breath hot on Peter's ear. Woodenly, Peter swung the putter. Somehow, the ball ended up near the hole.

"That's it," Tony said in a low, sweet voice. "Gentle touch. Ease it in."

Even when they were done, it wasn't over. They stood on the prow and watched the sun set, Tony tucking himself against Peter's back again, arms around his waist this time.

It was … it was nice. It was very, very nice. Like this, staring out at the pink and gold of the setting sun, Peter could almost imagine that this was real, that Tony Stark actually wanted him, that Peter Parker could actually have this. Not a cover, not a rebound, but something sincere, something true.

He thought: _What if?_

Even if it ended up as just rebound sex, would that be so bad? And if Peter had read it all wrong, well, it would be good to know that, too.

He'd just—he'd be subtle. He'd see what happened. He'd take the first shower, stick to his underwear after, and see what Tony did.

—

What Tony did: absolutely nothing.

Peter walked out on the balcony in his boxers, nerves thrumming through him despite the five minutes he spent psyching himself up in the bathroom beforehand, and tried not to shiver in the cold breeze. Tony's eyes went down to Peter's bare chest before jerking away. He didn't say anything.

"Bathroom's free," Peter said after a moment. "I saved you plenty of hot water."

"Be there in a minute."

Peter crawled into bed, tired and cold. Maybe … maybe Tony just wanted a shower first, too? He'd been flirting _all evening_. And maybe the flirting didn't mean anything—Tony flirted like breathing, after all—but he'd also spent the whole day putting his hands all over Peter. Surely that meant something?

Sure. Like they were undercover and apparently Tony really was just that committed.

Peter swallowed hard, but it felt like there was something stuck in his throat. Time passed, but Tony stayed in the bathroom. A normal shower didn't take this long, but maybe hiding from the awkward kid with a crush did. Peter closed his burning eyes. He told himself it didn't matter. This didn't change anything. Tony hadn't wanted him before and he didn't want him now. Peter didn't have to worry about Tony regretting anything, because nothing was going to happen.

Peter didn't know why he'd ever thought otherwise.

—

At some point, Peter must have fallen asleep, because he woke to the breathy sound of Tony softly snoring. It was warm under the covers, heat radiating off of Tony's body. Peter wanted to reach out. He wanted to curl into Tony's warmth and press his face into his clean-smelling skin.

Peter closed his eyes. He stayed where he was. Eventually, he fell back asleep.

—

In the morning, Tony acted like everything was normal, so Peter followed his lead. Tony had breakfast delivered to the room, and Peter assembled delicious breakfast sandwiches from the eggs, toast, and bacon, squishing the bread down before shoving each triangle into his mouth.

It was fine. Peter hadn't ruined everything and apparently had left himself enough plausible deniability that Tony could pretend he hadn't noticed Peter's terrible attempt at seduction at all.

Peter just had to make it through the next couple days, and then he could go home and do his own bit of wallowing and/or denial. He could do this. At least now that Peter had embarrassed himself, Tony would put the brakes on all the flirting.

—

Tony did not put the brakes on all the flirting. Tony came entirely too close to giving Peter a hand job in public while they eavesdropped on some cultists during the island day trip part of the cruise. 

Tony dropped into the same lounging chair Peter lay down on instead of any of the other, empty ones surrounding them. He cuddled into Peter, his front pressed into Peter's side. He slid his fingers down Peter's abdomen to the hem of his shirt, then, as Peter tried to stave off a heart attack, put his hand up Peter's shirt. His fingers were solid and warm where they touched Peter's belly. Shamelessly, he felt up Peter's abs, then slid further down again. 

Peter was dying. This was killing him. Tony moved his hand to Peter's lower belly, petting at the hair leading down, and with each stroke shifted down further yet, pushing under the band of Peter's shorts.

The cultists were talking about kidnapping someone, and all Peter could think about was what Tony's hand would feel like on his dick. It was only a couple inches away.

"Mr. Stark," Peter choked out quietly.

"Too much?" Tony asked, his voice just as quiet, but much steadier.

"It's really hard to concentrate when you're doing that."

"Sorry." Tony didn't sound sorry. He dropped a kiss against Peter's temple. "I'll let you work."

His hand stayed where it was, resting on Peter's lower belly. Peter wanted to whine. He wanted to squirm. He wanted Tony to move his hand those couple inches.

Peter sucked it up. He tried to focus. He could wonder about what this meant when the cultists weren't planning their next meeting.

—

"That went well," Tony said cheerfully after the cultists wandered off.

Peter would like to dispute this version of events. Sure, they knew when and where all the cultists would be meeting, but he currently had a partial erection and the sneaking suspicion that, despite being the cause, Tony hadn't been pretending this morning, after all—he really hadn't noticed Peter throwing himself at him last night.

Peter took a deep breath. He took another. The mission. He should focus on the mission. He pulled out some of the listening devices he'd gotten from S.H.I.E.L.D.. He said, "Want to go plant some bugs?"

"Sure. We can have another romantic walk on the beach and anywhere else that looks like a good place for it."

Because Peter was a professional and an adult, he did not cry when Tony grabbed his hand with the same one that had just spent twenty minutes halfway down his shorts.

—

To be fair, what happened next was Peter's fault. Partway through setting up bugs in the conference center, Peter heard very familiar voices coming down the hall. He panicked. He pressed one last bug against the underside of the table, then lunged for Tony, clumsily shoving their mouths together.

Like every time before, Tony was immediately on board with this undercover as lovers business. He asked, "Is this really the time?" but followed that up with putting his hands back up Peter's shirt and getting reacquainted with the skin there.

"This is exactly the time," Peter said, trying his best to indicate _incoming cultists_ without saying the words aloud. 

Tony must have gotten the idea, because he fully committed to making it look like they were there for a reason that wasn't planting bugs: he dropped to his knees and started undoing Peter's shorts. Peter tried to remain unaffected, but it was a lost cause. Tony undid the button with his _teeth_.

When the cultists burst in, Tony had his hands on Peter's ass and his mouth on the tab of his zipper.

The cultists threw them out of the conference room. Peter tried not to think too hard about what would have happened if they'd been just a minute slower.

—

The rest of the day trip was spent wandering, seemingly aimless, but in actuality dropping more bugs in strategic places. Tony apparently felt that he'd put in enough effort for their cover with faking a would-be blow job, because he didn't try to hold Peter's hand again. It was probably for the best. Peter thought he might burst from sexual frustration, his skin feeling too small for his body. Even holding hands at this point felt like too much.

At the end of the day trip, Tony said, "Okay, real question time. Everyone else has this handled, but we can join in or not, your choice."

The whole point of this was to get Peter more experience with the day to day, non-emergency Avengers missions, wasn't it? "Why wouldn't we?"

Tony didn't have an answer for that. 

It was weird, but it wasn't the weirdest conversation they'd had that weekend. Peter dismissed it.

—

Fighting the cultists was half a step up from webbing up bicycle thieves. This was a training wheels mission despite Peter having technically been an Avenger for years. It was over quickly, and then Rhodey pulled him aside for a combination of brief mission debrief and, apparently, small talk.

"How was the cruise?" Rhodey asked.

"Better as an undercover guest than employee, probably," Peter answered honestly.

"Tony didn't distract you too much?"

"He was very professional." Peter's life was the sort of weird where professional encompassed having someone's hand down his pants in public.

"I'm sure." Rhodey looked sure that it was the opposite. Peter wondered if he knew about the hands down his pants part.

"No, really! He was a huge help."

"I believe you." Rhodey didn't seem to believe him. "Anyway, what I really need to know is if you're headed out after this or if you're sticking around."

"I can stick around if you need me," Peter said.

"You're fine to go if you want. Tony kept us pretty well updated, and the after action report can wait. You can still go back and finish the cruise. Tony paid for it. I know it wasn't your original plans, but it has to be better than whatever date Tony came up with on his own."

Date? The word was like hitting a sudden plane of glass where he thought there'd been clear air. Surely Peter had misheard.

Tony wandered up, armor peeled back, and said, "I'll have you know my ideas are all winners. You would be lucky to date someone half so thoughtful."

… Peter hadn't misheard.

"You said you were going to stay in," Rhodey said as Peter recalibrated his idea of what had been happening this weekend.

"With champagne and rose petals," Tony said lightly. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. The date was canceled in favor of the mission, and the mission's over. I'm headed home after this. Can I talk to the kid alone a minute?"

"Date?" Peter said, because yes, they really did need to talk. Specifically, about the fact that Tony had planned to take Peter on a date this weekend: a date Peter _would not have canceled_ if he'd had any idea. Were they going to watch movies or was that an excuse to Netflix and chill? Had Tony actually ordered champagne? If Tony really had planned to watch movies, what was on the list for what Tony thought made a great first date movie? Peter had so many questions, some more important than others, but he was desperate to know the answer to all of them.

Peter didn't get the chance to ask. Rhodey left, and Tony called dibs on going first. He talked over Peter's attempt to let Tony know this was the first he'd realized it was supposed to be a date. He had a whole long self-sacrificing speech about how he'd rather be friends than the ex Peter never talked to again.

Peter didn't want to be exes. He liked being Tony's friend, but he'd rather be more. He pulled off his mask. He said, just to be sure, because a part of him still didn't believe it, "That was a date? A real date?"

Without waiting for an answer, because Tony had finally made himself very clear, Peter went in for a kiss, a real one. Peter pressed their lips softly together, letting himself focus on it this time, Tony's dry lips, the prickle of his goatee. Tony was frozen, unresponsive, and Peter pulled back to make sure he was okay with this. The astonishment in his eyes wasn't a bad look. Peter swooped in for another kiss, firmer, more confident. Tony parted his lips, which was pretty much an invitation to lick them. In response, Tony made a tiny sound full of want, and oh, _oh_ , Peter wanted to hear that again in a more private setting.

When Peter could bear to pull away, he said, "Mr. Stark—Tony—we weren't on the same page, but—" He kissed Tony again, because he was allowed to do that. "I think we are now."

And they were. It was a very good page.

—

Peter went back to Tony's place for their original plans. It involved less in the way of watching movies and more being fucked into the mattress. Peter had zero complaints. 

Well, maybe one.

"Next time, you should lead with sex instead of golfing," Peter said sleepily from his position sprawled across Tony's chest. "Just start every date that way."

Tony's dropped a kiss on Peter's temple. He said, "I'll keep that in mind."

—

They didn't start every date with sex, but they had a very good time. Maybe he wasn't great moral support, but a boyfriend? Peter would do his utmost to be the best damn boyfriend Tony Stark ever had.


End file.
